For the Rain
by peanutbutterer
Summary: Agent John Sheppard is about to get a new partner – a woman he never thought he’d see again. JohnElizabeth. SGASG1
1. Chapter 1

_I don't understand the numbers  
But my faith is in the math  
And the odds are all this pain will even out in the end  
And we'll look back and laugh_.

~ John Mayer

----

Agent John Sheppard had heard a great many things in his life that had caught him by surprise, but this – this took the cake.

"No. No, no, no," he said adamantly, pushing out of the cushy black chair to stand. He needed room to pace. "Not going to happen."

Assistant Director Jack O'Neill answered without looking up from his papers. "This isn't the produce department, Sheppard. You don't get to make a selection."

John strode to the window and tugged at the office blinds to stare out onto the sea of bustling work spaces. There had to be forty agents in this division alone. Forty. He turned back to O'Neill. "What about Miller?"

The director shook his head.

"Stecker? Cruz?" When O'Neill didn't respond, he tried a more aggressive approach. "Come on, Jack. I can tell you already this isn't going to work. Just save us both the trouble and – "

O'Neill arched an eyebrow, nonplussed, before leaning back in his chair. He took a moment to drum his fingers on the glass of his desk before speaking. "You are aware that I hired you, right?" he asked with only a hint of mirth. "That, in and of itself, should tell you I like a little trouble now and again."

John started to speak but O'Neill silenced him with a glare. "It's done, Sheppard. You can bitch and moan all you want, but it won't change the facts." He scowled and began sifting though the files on his desk. "You've gone through five partners in the last three years – no one wants to work with you. It's incredibly unfortunate because, though you're a live wire, you're also one of the best agents I've dealt with."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's not a compliment. I'm saying you're trouble and Landry's not going to allow me to keep you on if you continue to chew through partners. I like you, but the big guy doesn't think you're worth the risk. In the end it's his call. I'd recommend you don't mess this one up," he concluded, his clipped tone a clear end to the debate.

John ground his teeth and jammed his hands into his pockets. "Yes, sir."

"Get back to work."

John slipped out the door and skulked back to his desk, dropping heavily into his chair. Loosening his tie, he pulled at the top button of his collared shirt and fought the urge to put his fist through something.

A moment later Rodney McKay poked his head around John's screen and John wished, not for the first time, for a cubicle with walls.

"Didn't go for it, eh?"

"Nope."

Rodney's eyes widened. "So that means –"

"Yeah."

"Fantastic." Rodney rubbed his hands together excitedly. "I've always wanted to work with her."

John shook his head and switched off his monitor. Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair he pushed past Rodney. "You can have her."

--

"You're shitting me." Cameron Mitchell leaned over the pool table to line up his shot. "Weir? Elizabeth Weir?"

John merely nodded and took another pull of his beer.

Cameron struck the cue stick firmly, sinking the four in the far corner pocket. As he stood to survey the table his face broke into a wide grin. "That's quite possibly the most amusing thing I've heard all week."

Samantha Carter sighed heavily and leaned back to rest an elbow against the bar. "I don't know what you all are so worked up about. From what I've seen of her file, Weir is an incredibly talented agent. She's got one of the best records for high profile collars in the bureau," her gaze swung to John in acknowledgment, "right after you." She grabbed a handful of peanuts and popped a few into her mouth. "Seems to me like you two will make quite the team."

Cameron missed his next shot, but was just able to dodge the peanut Sam threw at his head. "But this is the Weir we hear all those stories about sweeping through Quantico like a Tasmanian Devil, right? The one who beat out our fair Shep for top dog?" He gave John a hearty pat on the back. "So really, they'll make a good team if he doesn't kill her first."

Sam nodded her agreement. "I suppose that is a consideration."

"From the stories I've heard, I'd put odds on her killing _him_," Rodney piped up.

John's shot went wild and he barely kept himself from digging a groove into the table. He sent a withering glare toward Rodney. "You're just here to even out the teams, not to speak."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Right. How silly of me to forget my place."

"Can't we get someone else?" Sam scrunched up her nose. "Cadman plays pool, right?"

Rodney huffed and waved his hands in her face. "Hello! I'm right here!"

"We know you are, buddy." Cameron smiled. "We know you are."

Sam took her turn, sinking the five but missing the two. She clucked her tongue and handed off her stick. "So what's the real problem? Are you honestly still hung up on the fact that you were number two?"

"I think she's a pain in the ass," he answered, watching in disgust as Rodney pulled out the bridge. "I can't believe you use a lady finger, McKay."

"What? You think they put it there for decoration?"

"No, I think they put it there for the six year olds who need a step stool to reach the table."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think this decade-old hostility should be left in the past?"

John frowned and concentrated on pulling at the label of his beer. "I think she's going to get in the way of me doing my job the way it needs to be done."

"At least she's hot," Cameron offered, pushing off the bar. "That has to make it at least a little enjoyable."

John shrugged. "I couldn't really speak to that."

"I find that hard to believe." Rodney looked up briefly as he struggled to hold both the bridge and his cue without disrupting the table. He teetered forward, attempting a better angle. "The man I know would never pass up an opportunity to flirt."

"Come on, Sheppard," Sam chided. "Give her another chance. You're number one now – you can rub that in and make yourself feel all warm and fuzzy."

"Or at least really look at her this time around," Cameron suggested. "I've heard she's sexy as hell."

John shook his head and sighed when Rodney scratched on the ten. "I don't care if she's Aphrodite or the female version of Rodney. Her looks are irrelevant."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "The female McKay? You could work with that?"

"The only thing that matters is that I get the job done. How am I going to do that with her chained to my ankle?"

"Chains can be hot."

John slid his empty bottle onto the table and signaled the waitress for another. "Fine. I'll screw her – I just don't want to have to drag her along on assignments. I don't need her slowing me down and insisting we do things her way."

"Well, Agent Sheppard," a cool female voice said from behind him. He turned to find a lanky brunette in a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown leather jacket, her green eyes sparkling. "I don't think you've thought this through. If I'm really as sexy as they say, perhaps after you've had your way with me I can find a nice arms dealer and simply sleep our way in."

Cameron choked on his drink.

"Honestly, I'm disappointed," she continued. "For an agent so renowned for his inclination to disregard protocol, I find you distinctly lacking in imagination."

For a moment he stood frozen, eyes fixed on the woman before him.

Cameron took advantage of the silence, stepping forward to extend a hand. "Cameron Mitchell," he introduced.

She took it and shook firmly. "Elizabeth Weir." The corner of her mouth quirked up and she met his eyes easily. "Do I live up to your rumors, Agent Mitchell?" she asked with amusement.

Cameron grinned. "Ms. Weir, you exceed them."

Her gaze shifted to Sam. "So that would make you Agent Carter, and you," she turned to where Rodney was standing, mouth slightly agape, "must be Rodney McKay."

Sam nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Weir."

"Elizabeth," she corrected.

"An honor," Rodney added, juggling his cue in an effort to hastily grab her offered hand and shake it. "A real honor. I heard all about your work against the Asurians and I must say, impressive. Very impressive."

"Give it a rest, McKay," John growled under his breath.

"So, Elizabeth," Cameron said, completely ignoring John's obvious irritation, "since you're new to town, perhaps you'd like to be shown the sights? There's a remarkable view from the top of the Space Needle. An angel like you should be close to the heavens."

Elizabeth looked at him skeptically.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "he tried that line on me once too. I suppose, as his partner, I should take pity on him and tell him what women really want to hear."

"I'll have you know I'm incredibly good with the ladies," Cameron defended. "I've been on numerous dates, the majority of which have ended with –" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait a minute," he turned to Sam, "you know what women want to hear and you haven't told me?"

"So, Elizabeth," Rodney shifted a little awkwardly, "can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, but I should be heading out. I have unpacking to do."

"Need some help?" Cameron offered, earning him an elbow in the side from Sam.

Elizabeth barely contained her grin. "I've got it covered, thanks. It was a pleasure to meet you and I'll see you all in the morning." She offered John a small smile. "It's good to see you again, John."

With that, she turned and made her way to the exit. John's eyes followed almost of their own accord. As she slipped out the door his frown deepened. She had to be adding more sway to her hips than was strictly necessary.

"Shep!" Cameron barked and John's head snapped up. "Stop staring, man."

The waitress arrived with John's beer and he grumbled incoherently.

Rodney grinned. "I _knew_ I wanted to work with her."

--

Five pair of eyes watched John as he bustled into the conference room. One pair was particularly pissed, one slightly irritated and the rest mildly amused. "Sorry I'm late," he said as he slid into the seat next to Rodney.

Rodney eyed him with interest. "I can't imagine how late you'd be if you actually took the time to, I don't know, comb your hair."

"Or tie your tie," Elizabeth added sotto voce.

John turned to her, sleek and perfectly pressed in her black pantsuit. He adopted a dramatized look of distress and tugged on the loose ends of fabric. "I couldn't do it myself," he explained, leaning across the table. "Could you show me how? I seem to recall you being well versed in appearances."

"Sheppard," O'Neill interrupted, "you missed the introductions. I'll summarize." He turned to Elizabeth. "This is your new partner, Agent Weir. As you know, she comes to us from the Chicago office. Her partner was recently taken off active duty after sustaining injuries in the field, so she's on loan to us until he recovers," his gaze fell to John, "since we seem to be a little short-handed."

Cameron snorted.

"Agent Weir," O'Neill continued without missing a beat, "this is Agent Sheppard. Now that we're all best friends, we'll get started."

He pressed a button on his remote and a headshot of a young man in his early twenties flashed on the large wall projector. "Aiden Ford," O'Neill began, pulling himself to his feet. "He's one of ours. For the past twenty-three months he's been on a deep cover assignment to infiltrate the Wraith. What little intelligence we have on this organization comes from him. All of it. Our current protocol is to receive information by dead-drop at one of two locations. We have no way to contact him and we literally haven't seen him in months – and therein lies the problem. Agent Ford has missed his last three scheduled drops.

"The most recent information we can confirm is that Ford is the right-hand man of Vela Queen, head of one of two Wraith cells." He clicked to the next slide, a photo of a rail thin and pale-skinned redhead. "We need you to garner enough trust within the Wraith ranks to get a face-to-face with Ford. Talk to him; find out what's going on and what needs to be done. It's possible we're looking at an extraction. Wraith don't like loose ends." He nodded to Cameron. "Mitchell."

"We've initiated contact with this man," Cameron said as he stood, the projector displaying a third image. The figure was older and heavy set, with a graying goatee and greased back hair. "Pierre Olesia. Former leader of the Magistrate, Olesia has an FBI file longer than Sheppard's mother. Known for his impressive lack of conscience and an unparalleled sense of self-preservation. When the shit hit the fan at the Magistrate, Olesia facilitated the deaths of half his crew in order to ensure his own survival. He's been a peripheral arms dealer for the Wraith since their inception."

"Olesia is our way in," O'Neill informed them, sliding mission briefs across the table. "Agents Sheppard and Weir will be posing as Caleb and Rebecca Green, prospective buyers looking to stockpile arms. You're particularly interested in the Wraith's signature weapon, known for its unique stun capabilities. You'll have enough cash to make you look interesting, but you'll be posing as unknowns so keep your heads about you. Mitchell and Carter are assigned as your backup. Check with McKay for your tech before you leave. Your scheduled meet is tomorrow afternoon."

Standing, O'Neill made his way to the door. When he reached the frame he paused and turned. "Don't get dead," he instructed before disappearing into the hall.

John looked to Cameron. "My mother?"

Elizabeth smiled and opened the folder in front of her, quickly scanning its contents. "Aph?"

Cameron shrugged as he gathered his things. "Aphrodite has too many syllables."

"They let you assign my codename?"

"Oh, I picked it, but the inspiration was really Shep's. And seeing as how he's going to call you that anyway, I figured we may as well make it official."

John grunted, flipping open his file. If he were to pick her codename it wouldn't have been quite so flattering.

"Aph," Elizabeth repeated, sounding it out with a shake of her head.

"Just be thankful it wasn't Carter's turn to pick."

Sam laughed as she rose from her seat, tucking her papers under one arm. "What's the matter, Belle? You don't like yours?"

Cameron affected a slow southern drawl. "Oh, I love it, darlin', I do. It's purdy as a picture."

"Unlike your face," John commented dryly.

Cameron only grinned. "Oh, Miss Peep, get your crook out of your ass."

--

"Tell me you've miraculously healed," Elizabeth pleaded, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear as she sifted through the files on her desk. "Tell me I can come home."

"I'm miraculously healed. You can come home," the voice on the line deadpanned.

Even though he couldn't see her, she rolled her eyes. "Mean it," she insisted.

"Oh, come on. Seattle can't be that bad. You like the rain."

She slid the phone back into her hand and briefly looked to ensure that no one was in the immediate vicinity. Only a few stragglers remained in the office, but they were busying themselves with shutting things down. "The city's fine, it's the company I can't stand," she whispered.

"They can't all be flannel-loving hippies."

A mental picture of her adopted team in plaid shirts flashed in her mind and she couldn't contain a small laugh. God, she missed him already. "No, I guess not. For the most part they're a good group, but my partner is a pain in the ass. Or maybe just an ass."

"Maybe he's still hung up on you being brought in as the ringer."

"That's a possibility," she answered slowly, turning the idea in her head, "but it seems like there's something more to it than that. It never used to be like this."

"Well, you –"

"Never mind," she interrupted. "How's desk work?"

"Oh you know, full of action and intrigue."

"Line Rider?" she guessed.

"Hey, don't knock it. I'm trying to make the Space Needle in homage to you."

She reached for her mouse and clicked open her browser.

"Don't do it," he warned, causing Elizabeth to freeze. "Don't you sit at the office and stare at your computer all night. Take them up on their offer to go out with them."

She rubbed at her eyes. "How do you do that? How did you know what I was doing and what I was avoiding?"

"Wild conjecture." She smiled to herself, waiting for him to expand. She often wondered if he knew her better than she knew herself. He continued, "It's obvious that your competitive streak is pushing you to see if you can make a Space Needle yourself," she could tell he was grinning, "and I know that people love you, Liz. And they enjoy your company. And Seattleites are yuppies that spend their evenings in martini bars."

"Actually, they appear to be beer people."

"Even better. Have one for me."

"Lorne"

"I'm hanging up now and you're going out."

She sighed reluctantly. "I'll talk to you later."

"'Night, Liz."

--

Elizabeth leaned against the bar and took the opportunity to scan the room. They weren't difficult to find, their loud laughter carrying from the pool area where they were re-racking their cues to make way for a new set of players.

"Here you are, ma'am," the bartender said, sliding a tray in front of her. "How many glasses?"

She held up four fingers and he placed the chilled mugs next to her pitcher. "Thanks."

Grabbing the tray, she took a bolstering breath and wove her way through the tables, approaching Cameron from behind.

"Howdy," Sam greeted. "Glad you could make it."

Cameron pivoted to face her. "Beer? For us?" At her nod he helped himself to a glass. "I think I may love you a little."

She saw John roll his eyes as Cameron snagged the pitcher. "Calm down, Mitchell. It's probably Coors Light."

"Actually, it's Dead Guy." She slid the tray onto the table. "I took a shot in the dark. You west coasters are into microbrews and I'm into irony."

Cameron took a large swallow. "Direct hit." He wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Does your aim carry over to darts? We were just debating the merits of starting a game."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Haven't played in a while."

"You can be on my team," Sam offered. "There are a lot of things I haven't done in a while."

"Boys against girls, how cute," John quipped as he collected a set of darts from the board.

Elizabeth selected a mug and poured herself a glass. "Bet?" she asked.

"Standard," Cameron answered. "Losers write the after action reports."

"Diddle for the middle?"

"Either you have played darts before or that was a proposition," Cameron said with a grin. "Either way…"

John held the darts out for Elizabeth. "Ladies first," he deferred.

"How chivalrous."

He shrugged as she grabbed them. "I'm not without honor."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"I find incredulity very sexy in a woman," Cameron offered.

"Oh, shut up," John and Sam said in unison, causing everyone to laugh.

Elizabeth's first dart hit treble twenty and the words "oh shit" sounded from behind her in stereo. She bit down on a grin before twisting to face the gallery. "Lucky throw." She shrugged. The next dart hit single eighteen and her final opened it with the double.

Sam beamed. "That's my partner."

John stepped up to the line as Elizabeth stepped away. He stuck a four and a one, finally throwing a single eighteen.

"Not one of your many talents?" Elizabeth guessed.

Cameron laughed and John attempted unsuccessfully to silence him with a glare.

Several rounds and two pitchers later, Elizabeth's cheeks were rosy and spread in a wide grin. "He didn't," she said as she hit double twenty.

"Oh yeah," Sam continued, chalking up the points, "McKay was pretty proud that he killed it though."

"The mouse?"

Sam nodded. "He went on for days about how hard it is to shoot something so small and I kept reminding him that it doesn't count when that wasn't what you were aiming for."

Elizabeth laughed and hit another nineteen.

"Come on," John threw up his hand, "just hit sixteen and end it already."

"Not having fun?" she teased.

He growled in response.

Elizabeth sighed but obliged. "It's not my fault you can't close your nineteen."

Sam smiled triumphantly at the scoreboard. "Wow, we kicked your asses."

"No, _she_ kicked our asses." John shrugged on his jacket. "See you tomorrow," he said and he was gone.

"So," Elizabeth drew out the word as she watched him leave, "is he always that pissy?"

"No," Sam answered, "actually he's not. I'm not entirely sure what his problem is today."

Cameron drained the last of his beer and slid his empty glass to the middle of the table. "I have a fairly good idea."

"And?" Sam prompted.

He gave Elizabeth a reassuring smile. "He'll warm up."


	2. Chapter 2

--

Sam opened the rear van door and slipped quickly inside. "We're plugged into the building's surveillance and ready to go."

Cameron switched on the monitors. "Lock and load."

"I hate to break it to you, Belle," she said, sliding out of her coveralls, "but you do recognize that this mission we're on tech backup, right? We neither lock nor load."

"Now how do you figure that's fair? They get the exciting job and the cool lingo? I protest."

"Van duty does have some perks," Sam pointed out as she snagged a doughnut and bit into it.

"You know," he grabbed one for himself, "you've got to wonder why we're always in a panel van. I mean, as far as inconspicuous goes, this rates right up there with the sight of Jack at a disco."

Sam chuckled lightly and wiped some loose powder from her hands.

"I mean really," he continued, "you see a panel van on the street and you think a) FBI, b) kidnappers, or c) Ed McMahon. Never do you actually think, 'that must be an inconsequential plumber.' So why do we continue to use them?"

"Probably because all of this tech wouldn't fit in a VW Beetle."

Cameron tilted his head thoughtfully. "Fair point."

Sam gestured to the far left screen. "Showtime."

--

John opened the car door and offered his hand to Elizabeth. Reaching up, she grabbed it and allowed him to guide her out of her seat and toward the restaurant. Falling into step beside her he let his hand slip to rest on her lower back.

"What are you doing?" she whispered under her breath, showing no break in her professional façade.

John responded without shifting his gaze. "I'm escorting you in."

"Yeah, I get that. But why is your hand on my ass?"

"It's not on your – we're married, I'm trying to pretend that I like you." John held up three fingers and the hostess nodded, leading them to a quiet table on the patio. "You could help this little scene along by pretending to be remotely agreeable," he continued once the young woman was out of earshot.

"Married? What are you talking about?"

"Caleb and Rebecca Green," he reminded her, a note of exasperation finally slipping into his tone as he opened his menu and dropped a hand to her thigh just below the hem of her floral skirt. "Not advanced enough to learn the subtleties of aliases in Chicago? Still communicating though plastic cups and string?"

"In my office we actually read the mission breakdowns." She swatted his hand away. "We're siblings. Stop groping me."

_Nice going, Bo_, Cameron said over the comm.

Sam snorted. _Oh, like you've never groped your sister_.

_Nah, I'm not into blondes. I find them a little too high maintenance_.

"Just what I need while trying to negotiate an arms deal," John hissed, "juvenile insults being tossed around in my ear."

_Lighten up_, Cameron chided, _you're not negotiating yet. Besides, you were the one feeling up Aph. I'd say if anyone needs to focus it's_ –

_He's here_, Sam interrupted. _Two bodyguards._

A shadow fell across their table and John turned in his chair. "Mr. Olesia," he greeted as he rose. "Caleb Green. This is my sister, Rebecca."

Olesia took John's hand and then turned to Elizabeth, his eyes lighting up at her smile. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Ms. Green, it is truly a pleasure."

Taking their seats, John eyed the bodyguards standing imposingly off to one side.

"You asked for a meeting?" Olesia drew his attention.

"Well, Mr. Olesia," John began, "Rebecca and I –"

"Actually," he interrupted smoothly, "I'd like to hear from the lady." He trailed his gaze over Elizabeth and then back to John. "If we're going to have to speak of such distasteful things as violence and weaponry, the least we can do is hear it from a pair of beautiful lips. I'm sure you understand."

Cameron made a hacking sound in their ears.

"Of course," John answered.

Elizabeth smiled demurely and folded her hands in her lap. "We're interested in amassing a quantity of stunners. Our research facility has been having trouble gathering sufficient numbers of test subjects of late. Unfortunately, at this point we're simply too far along to abandon the project entirely. We therefore find ourselves in need of... a way of ensuring the necessary volunteerism to make our endeavor a success."

"If they're not going to come to us," John added, "we'll seek them out."

_Pithy_, Cam observed.

"Your intentions are not what concern me," Olesia said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "What we care about is what you will do for us."

"We're aware of your price and we are prepared to –"

"Money," he cut Elizabeth off, "is of little value, though the Wraith will expect financial reimbursement for the cost of production. To become an associate, however, they will desire more from you. We do not do business with strangers; rather, we share such collegiality of exchange only with friends." He tipped his head. "You must understand the need for such precautions in such a world as exists today."

John's eyes narrowed slightly. "So how exactly do we become friends?"

Olesia leaned back in his chair. "We are conducting a bit of research of our own. Our scientists have been working to develop a protein cocktail that would be used to enhance the body's natural endorphins. Three days ago, our prototype of this enzyme was stolen. We believe it to be the work of a disgruntled ex-associate. Your task is simple: we want it back."

--

John slid the keycard into the lock and swung the door wide, gesturing for Elizabeth to precede him into the room. She slipped past and dropped her duffle on a nearby chair, pulling a lipstick container from the side pocket and twisting once, causing it to hum quietly. Quickly and efficiently, she began to sweep for bugs.

After flipping the security latch, John perched on the edge of the far bed and pulled a laptop from his bag. He opened the small computer and set it on the nearby table and powered up. When he connected to the secure link, a frozen image of Rodney's face filled the screen.

"We're clean," Elizabeth informed him as she pulled a chair up beside him.

John nodded and pressed play.

"Salutations," Rodney greeted. "Based on the information from your feed, I've done the preliminary research for you. Here's what we're looking at: Lathan's warehouse, the most likely place for storage of the enzyme, is located in Bremerton, just north of your location. The building itself is positioned on a low-traffic pier on the edge of the Harborside district. From what I can tell, security is tight, with at least ten armed guards on patrol as well as various electronic safeguards. Running through multiple scenarios, it appears that the most likely point of ingress will be to breach directly from the Sound. The structure itself is old and architectural maps show a wide system of air ducts that span the entire building."

A three-dimensional blueprint replaced Rodney's image. "This should be straightforward enough to maneuver. According to thermal scans, this room," a small section in the north east corner highlighted, "is kept significantly cooler than the rest of the building. We suspect that's where the enzyme is stored." The blueprints blinked away and Rodney reappeared. "This will also allow us an opportunity to analyze the enzyme and substitute a fake before you return the package to Queen. Two birds with one stone, as it were. There are dry suits in your closet. Oh, and uh... remember not to, you know, in them." He grimaced slightly. "They don't work like wet suits. I've made that mistake before."

John rolled his eyes.

"Once you have the enzyme you can make contact with us through this payphone." Another map appeared on the computer. "We'll meet at that point to debrief as to our next move. I think that's it. This message will not self-destruct so.. don't forget to erase this file. Good luck and good night."

The transmission ended and John switched off the laptop. "Super. So, what are we going to do for the next three hours?" He looked around the room. "No foosball table. Want to thumb-wrestle?"

Elizabeth tilted her head, tracing the paisley pattern of the cushion with her finger a moment before meeting his eyes. "Why are you acting like this, John?"

He faltered slightly. "Wow, or we could have a ridiculous conversation that no one wants to have."

"I know we had our issues back then," she forged on, "but it's been almost ten years. Haven't we moved past that?"

He raked a hand through his hair and averted his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, I believe that," she drawled, "what with all the kindness and affection."

John glared at her, brow furrowed. "What, I was supposed to welcome you with open arms?"

"Maybe a little civility."

He shook his head, pushing off the bed and walking to the window. "Look, I'm just –"

"A big jerk?" she guessed.

"You think this is all on me?"

"Are you intimating I did something to deserve this? We haven't seen each other since graduation. There's nothing I could have done in the last two days to prompt this."

"Well I guess you just have a shorter memory than I do." John strode briskly to the door and swung it open. "I'm going for a walk. Get some rest; it's going to be a long night."

When the door closed, she dropped her head into her hands. With a sigh, she moved to the bed, flipped on the television and found the local news. As the weatherman warned of intermittent thundershowers, Elizabeth settled in to wait.

--

Slipping quietly from the murky water, John checked for guards before motioning for Elizabeth to follow him up the rusted rungs of the metal ladder.

John shed his suit as she climbed out and pulled herself to her feet. She slipped off her hood and ran a hand through her tousled curls before wriggling out of her own suit and balling it up to shove it into a dark corner. Then she helped him unscrew the grate on the access point to the ventilation shafts.

John silently pulled off the cover and Elizabeth slipped inside. Once the grate was secured behind them, they started to crawl. It was a slow journey into the heart of the complex, and it was made longer by the necessity to pause when guards passed below.

When they reached a vertical segment Elizabeth stifled a sigh. Jamming her back into one side, she braced her legs against the opposite wall and slowly began to lever her way up.

"Hogan's Alley doesn't really compare to this building does it?" she whispered, craning her neck to look down at John.

He mimicked her position. It was the first time either of them had spoken in the last hour, and it helped to ease the tension that had crept into their silence. "Yeah, I'd guess that those guards aren't using paint guns either."

"True," she conceded, continuing her ascent, "but they may be using stunners."

John's voice was strained as he shifted his weight. "Fantastic. You have fun dragging my unconscious ass back through this rabbit hole, okay?"

Elizabeth met his gaze and flashed him a wicked grin. "It's not like I haven't done it before."

John scowled even though she had already stopped looking. "I thought we promised never to speak of that again."

"I was crossing my fingers at the time."

"Are you a government agent or a pre-pubescent girl?"

"Aww. How can you say that to the woman who saved your life?"

"It was a training exercise!" he hissed. "I would have survived regardless. All you did was save me the dry-cleaning bill that red paint would have caused."

They reached the top of the segment and Elizabeth pulled herself up onto the lip of a horizontal duct. She took a moment to let her muscles rest while John heaved himself up into the space behind her. "I'm pretty sure there's a report on that somewhere," she mused. "I should dig it up."

"Is this your SOP now?" he asked as they resumed crawling. "Ruthlessly mocking your only ally in a desperate mission to save the world from terror? You know there's a little thing called focusing on the task at hand."

"If I recall correctly," she paused, twisting her head to face him, "you're the man who hums show tunes while stripping his weapons in the field."

"Ah, but who had the best time for stripping an M16 blindfolded? Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"This is it," she said, pointing toward a two-foot diameter hatch in the base of the vent. She hunched closer to the opening. "This is the cooling room."

John opened a pocket on his vest and removed a small camera. He snaked the extending lens between the metal slits of the cover and watched the display. Once he was sure the room was empty he nodded.

Elizabeth dug her fingers under the grate and pulled it up, sliding it away. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"I've missed you," she confessed before dropping down into the room.

He followed immediately after, landing just to the side of a large metal table that took up most of the space of the room. Three of the four walls were lined with refrigerated shelves, fully stocked with a colorful array of tubes and containers filled with various and sundry drugs. The fourth wall held the door.

John scanned the labels, trailing his fingers lightly along the glass until he stopped in front of a section of bottles filled with an opaque amber liquid. "Here we go." He reached for the handle but stopped when he heard the faint but distinct sound of approaching footsteps.

"Shit," Elizabeth breathed as she swept her eyes over the room.

John moved to the door and pressed himself out of sight against the adjoining wall, motioning for Elizabeth to pull up beside him. "This is why we're bad partners," John whispered as he un-holstered his sidearm.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Why exactly?"

"Because this is the point where one of us is supposed to say, 'Bogota' and the other is supposed to know what it means."

"The capitol of Colombia?"

"Yeah, and when the guy comes through the door, you distract him with a tap dance and I hit him with a tranq dart in the ass."

"Because…"

"Because that's what we did when we were in Bogota."

"We were never in Bogota."

"Which is exactly my point."

Elizabeth made a face as she raised her weapon. "A tap dance?"

John just shook his head. "Bad partners."

The door swung open and a tall man entered, his long white hair hanging loosely across his shoulders. John waited until the door shut behind him and then struck him with the butt of his pistol, reaching out to stop the fall and easing the man's unconscious form to the floor.

"There aren't that many guards here," Elizabeth reminded him as she made her way to the far wall. "They're going to notice when this one doesn't turn up. We've got to move fast."

"We don't have time for the vents."

She grabbed a soft-shelled cooler from one of the shelves and unzipped it. John opened the refrigerator and started grabbing bottles and placing them inside. Once they were all accounted for she strapped it to her back and John cracked open the door.

As quickly and quietly as possible they made their way through the narrow hallways. The control center was between them and the main exit, but if they could get most of the way on foot they'd be able to reenter the duct system prior to contact and still shave off a considerable amount of time.

He rounded a corner on Elizabeth's heels and came face-to-face with a pair of guards.

John managed to duck the first stunner blast and dive forward, tackling his attacker head on and taking him to the ground. Wrestling with the man, he grabbed his wrist and slammed it hard, knocking the weapon from his grasp, then elbowed him across the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. The guard managed to backhand him before he could land another punch, and John fell to his side, his head landing hard on the concrete floor. As the world began to spin around him, John caught a glimpse of Elizabeth struggling with the other guard.

He heard the stunner blast before he saw her crumple to the floor, and then everything went black.

--

Elizabeth came-to with blurry vision and a massive headache. When the grey haze around her eyes finally slid into focus she took in what she could of her current location. She was in a small cell; concrete walls, one drain, one door, no windows and a lot of dried blood. Her hands were bound in front of her and her watch read oh five hundred. She'd been unconscious for three hours.

Before she could even consider the implications of her captivity, or question why they wouldn't just wash the blood down the drain, the door to the cell opened and a guard stepped in, John's pistol jammed into the small of his back.

"Free her," he ordered. "Now."

The guard approached Elizabeth, keys jangling in his trembling hand. He unlocked her cuffs and her fingers went instinctively to her wrists, rubbing away the ghost of metal.

John whipped the barrel of his gun against the guard's face and the man crumpled to the floor.

"John, how in the world did you –" She stopped as she met his eyes. They were bloodshot and red-rimmed, open painfully wide with pupils dilated to the point that his eyes appeared black. He looked like he was about to burst from the inside out.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "You—"

"Go," he croaked. "We have to go. They're coming; the men are coming."

"You took the enzyme."

"Go," he repeated, slapping his palm against the door. "Go, go, GO!"

She grabbed the gun from the fallen guard and eased past John into the hallway. It didn't appear that anyone knew of their escape yet, but with all the noise John was making she was certain it was only a matter of time. Checking to be sure he was behind her, Elizabeth led them down the corridor and toward the supply room. As they drew nearer she realized that the reason no one was after them wasn't that they hadn't noticed, it was because John had literally incapacitated everyone in the building. Unconscious bodies littered the corridor.

She grabbed the cooler from where it had fallen in what looked to have been an explosive battle and checked to make sure it still held the enzyme. Most of it was still accounted for. "Here, take this," she ordered John, handing him the container. He nodded and did as instructed, following her out the door and down the hallway.

--

The hotel was a little over twenty minutes away, and by the time she got them there John had started to shake. She managed to get him into the room and onto a bed, but she imagined he was only staying put because he was currently lacking the motor skills to walk on his own.

"Jesus," she said as she returned from the bathroom, a damp washcloth in her hands. "How much of this stuff did you take?"

"Lots of guys," he said with a grimace, his hands tapping aimlessly. "I had to get them all."

"Well, you certainly did," she assured him, perching on the bed and pressing the cool cloth to his forehead. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin and he was soaking in sweat.

"I did," he repeated proudly. "It was awesome. I just – bam! And then they – boom! And then the one guy fell right into a crate." He made a face. "It looked like it hurt."

"I'm sure it did. Here, hold this to your head," she instructed, grabbing his hand and placing it on top of the washcloth. "Keep it there." She released her hold and pushed off the bed.

John's arm jerked out and snagged her wrist, yanking her back to his side. "Don't go," he pleaded, eyes round and wide. "Please don't go, Elizabeth. Don't leave."

She gently pried his fingers from her and pressed them back on the washcloth. "I'm not going anywhere, John. I'm just moving to the foot of the bed."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I'm right here." She slowly made her way to the end of the bed and started to untie his shoes. He squirmed as she peeled off his socks and pants. "Sit up," she instructed, grabbing him beneath the arms and pulling him upright. She slipped his shirt over his head and laid him back down.

After assuring him that she would return, she grabbed the washcloth and went to the bathroom to run it under the sink again. Once it was cool, she made her way back to the bed and sat down beside him. She dragged the wet cloth slowly over his exposed skin. Blowing softly, she followed the damp trail with her breath in an attempt to lower his temperature.

He had gotten into this predicament by choice, she reminded herself, mentally dialing down the sympathy. It wasn't as if they were completely out of options and sentenced to death. They were merely captured. She'd gotten out of situations like that before just fine. If he would have given her a chance to come up with something... but no, he had to play the hero and pump himself full of drugs so he could He-Man his way out.

It was typical John and probably, she decided, the reason why he was notoriously bad about keeping partners. He was passionate and talented with incredible instincts – but he was reckless. In order to be his partner you had to be able to grab his hand, close your eyes and leap off a cliff. Not many people were willing to do that.

She realized her hand had stopped moving and he was watching her. His shaking had subsided and he was breathing easier. She shook off her thoughts and pulled the covers out from underneath him, draping the thin cotton sheet across him.

"Better?" she asked, brushing damp hair off his forehead.

He nodded tiredly.

"Good." She thumped him upside the head causing him to recoil.

"What was that for?"

"For being an idiot. That was the stupidest thing you could have done, John. What were you thinking?"

"I had to save you."

"I'm perfectly capable of saving myself, thanks. You put us both at risk by injecting yourself with a foreign chemical."

"I put us –" he pushed himself up on the bed. "I got us out of there!"

"No, I got us out of there," she corrected, pushing him back down. "You knocked out half the population of the Kitsap Peninsula."

He managed a small grin before easing back into the mattress and hugging the covers close to his body. "Hey, if you have to knock out a population it might as well be –"

"John Sheppard," she interrupted, aware that his breathing was becoming more rapid and reaching for another blanket, "don't you make a joke out of this. You scared the hell out of me."

He rolled toward her on his side and balled himself up tightly, but his eyes were still watching her. "Was it my superhuman muscle?" he asked quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Did it terrify you with its awesomeness?"

Elizabeth frowned, but her voice softened. "You haven't changed one bit, have you? This is your life you're playing with, John."

"I wasn't being reckless, Elizabeth," he insisted as he began to shiver. "I wasn't trying to put anyone at risk; I was trying to get us out of there. I did what needed to be done."

She shook her head and tucked the blankets in around him. "No, you did what did what you thought needed to be done. But you forgot the most important part – you weren't alone in there. I was with you." She sighed. "That's the problem, John. You don't know how to rely on other people. You've got to learn that you're not the only one capable of doing the saving. You've got to learn that you can depend on your partner – on me."

"Because you're a rock?" Even though his voice was weak, the sarcasm was clear. "Because you're always there?"

It took her a moment to track his train of thought. "That's not what this is about," she insisted. "This is about working with a partner."

"A partner who doesn't walk out?" He curled tighter into a ball. "A partner who doesn't give up?"

She opened her mouth to respond but could see there was no point in arguing with him when he was like this.

"I need to make the call." She stood and stared down at him a moment. "Get some sleep."

She didn't look back as she quietly slipped out the door.

--

"All right," O'Neill said as Elizabeth retook her seat. "Now that Sheppard has recovered, the mission seems pretty straightforward. Sheppard and Weir, you'll follow the instructions Olesia has laid out for you and attend the meet with Queen at her club, The Hive. While you're attempting to make the sale –" his eyes cut to John, "and don't actually make the arms deal this time, Sheppard –"

"Learned my lesson last time, sir."

O'Neill sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "While you're attempting to make the sale," he started again, "make contact with Agent Ford. Figure out what the hell is going on and what we can do about it."

With that, he dismissed them and headed back to his office.

Once O'Neill had gone, Elizabeth turned to John, her expression tight. "I'll meet you here at eight."

"Fine." He stood, grabbing his paperwork and leaving the room without another word.

"Hmm," Cameron mused as he watched Elizabeth disappear. He turned to Sam. "Did you notice the tension?"

"In Jack's neck?" she guessed.

"Between Sheppard and Weir."

"Ah, yes," she nodded. "Thick."

"Thick, indeed." Cameron tapped his index finger on the table. "I'm guessing by the end of the week."

Sam looked dubious. "By the end of the week only one will still be alive?"

"No, by the end of the week they'll be sleeping together."

She scoffed. "Because when he's boorish and overbearing it drives the ladies wild?"

"Haven't you ever heard of sexual tension? He likes her."

"That's what you do when you like someone?" She leaned back in her chair and sighed thoughtfully. "No wonder you're still single."

He clutched at his chest dramatically. "Oooo. That burns."

"Uh huh."

"You really don't think they're attracted to each other?"

"Oh, I do," she assured him, pushing out of her chair. "Sexual tension."

"Right." He nodded. "You think it's going to be a problem? That it will interfere with the missions?"

Sam shrugged and gathered her mission briefings. "I think it might actually make them work better together – whatever it is that's between them."

"I think you're right." He thought about it a moment before grinning. "That's probably why we work so well together. All the sexual tension between us."

"Shut up, Cam."

"You love me," he called after her departing figure. He smiled to himself. "She loves me."

--

The pounding bass that pulsed from the speakers was almost as thick as the smoke that overwhelmed them when they stepped through the door. Through the haze he watched as a sea of men and women undulated to the music in the dim light of the club.

John took a moment to wonder how they could possibly be that bendy when squeezed into leather pants and ratcheted up in corsets. He certainly wasn't planning on doing lunges any time soon in his own ridiculous outfit. Then he took another moment to imagine Elizabeth bending in hers.

He did have to concede there was a definite aesthetic benefit to pants that tight and a shirt with the apparent sole purpose of exposing as much of the chest as possible. Objectively, of course.

Elizabeth said something to the bouncer, leaning in close to his ear to be heard over the noise. The man nodded, gesturing toward a door at the back and Elizabeth motioned for John to follow.

They weaved their way through the crowd to the back of the club. A dark, narrow hallway led to a private room guarded by a large, bulky man with a pair of exposed pistols. The music from the main club still echoed in the corridor here, but no longer vibrated through their bones.

"We're here to see Ms. Queen," Elizabeth said, her voice only audible because of the walls on either side.

The guard grunted and stepped toward John, his palms patting up and down John's torso before making their way down his legs.

"I usually don't let strangers touch me like this unless they buy me a drink first. Are you going to at least give me your name before we proceed to third base?"

Not amused, the guard jerked on John's arm, forcing him to turn as he continued to check for weapons.

"Well then, Sugar, I guess we'll have to stick with pet names."

Content that John was unarmed, the guard moved to Elizabeth. He ran his hands slowly along her bare arms before dropping them to her hips. As if he couldn't tell by looking at her that she had nothing tucked away.

"I'd be careful if I were you," John warned as the man's hand lingered on her ass. "She isn't as fond of getting felt up as I am."

Thick fingers trailed slowly up Elizabeth's stomach, over the swell of her breasts and came to rest, palm flat against the bare skin of her chest.

"I don't know," he said with a leer. "I can feel her heart beating. I think she's excited." He turned his gaze to Elizabeth. "You like this don't you?"

Instead of responding, she brought her hand up to his arm, fingers ghosting the length of it as they made their way to his hand. She pressed her palm flush atop the back of his and smiled a knowing smile. Then she grabbed his hand and yanked it, twisting it away from her body, causing the man to jerk away from her to avoid it snapping. Levering it up higher behind his back, she grabbed the back of his collar and used it to propel him into the wall. With her free hand she pushed down on his shoulder until he cried out in pain.

"I'm unarmed," she said. "I guess you'll have to take my word for it." A swift elbow to the head knocked him unconscious.

With only a brief glance at John, she stepped over the guard, through the doorway and into the room. A large steel door closed behind them and the noise of the club faded into a muted hum. The room was small, composed of one round booth, a few plush chairs and another side door. There was one bodyguard poised at each exit, a man in a suit in one of the chairs, and a woman in the booth with a man on either side of her. The woman was Vela Queen. The man on her left was Aiden Ford.

"Pierre told me you were feisty," Queen said, eyeing Elizabeth openly, "but I didn't think you would attack my guard."

"He was a little too frisky with his frisking."

Queen's smile was cat-like. "It is not a crime to enjoy your job." She turned her attention to John. "It's a shame you've already been searched."

"I was thinking the same thing," he said smoothly.

"Aiden," Queen said sharply, "take care of our business with Ms. Green. I'd like to have a drink with this lovely gentleman."

"Of course," Ford answered as he rose. "If you'll come with me, we can make arrangements for the transfer," he said, stepping up to Elizabeth and gesturing toward the second door. She let him escort her into the room, closing the door behind them just as John slid into the booth beside Queen.

--

The second they were alone, Ford turned to Elizabeth and let out a breath. "I would have thought one missed drop would be enough to get you guys here. But three? I'm beginning to think the brass doesn't care if I'm dead or alive."

She stepped further away from the door, drawing him to the other side of the small room. "You're on the inside of an organization that's almost impossible to get into. They didn't want to risk that."

"Yeah, well." He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, eyes flitting between her and the exit.

Elizabeth knew he was still just a kid, but there was definitely a weird energy about this man. He looked agitated. "What's going on?"

He stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing her forearm. "Something big is going down."

She eyed his hand but he didn't release her. "And you couldn't explain it in a drop?"

"No. They're too close. It's too risky."

Elizabeth waited for him to expand. He didn't. "Too close to you?" she prompted. "To the end goal?"

"Both." His grip tightened. "We've got to stop them."

"Why? What exactly is going on?"

He looked over his shoulder before turning back to her. "For the first time in over a decade, the Queens are working together."


	3. Chapter 3

"A bomb?"

Elizabeth nodded. "According to Agent Ford, the two sisters, Vela and Ara Queen, are working together on this."

Sam frowned and waved a dismissive hand. "But they've barely bothered to speak to each other in years. The separate cells make a point of keeping their distance – their paths do not cross."

"It seems as if they've found a common goal," Cameron observed, fingers drumming on the glass of the conference room table.

"And that goal would be?" O'Neill asked Elizabeth.

She shook her head. "Agent Ford didn't know. All he could tell me was that it involved mass destruction."

"Estranged sisters finally come together to tear apart," Cameron mused. "Kinda poetic."

John snorted. "Except for the impending doom."

"Except for that."

"Well, they're not entirely trusting," Elizabeth explained, leaning forward in her chair and lacing her fingers together. "It seems the target is unknown to the separate cells. One Queen holds the longitude, the other holds the latitude and they have no intention of bringing them together before the scheduled time. This way neither has the ability to make a move without the other."

"Huh?" Cameron frowned. "That makes no sense. How is that even possible?"

Sam's eyes widened. "They're not really queens."

"Um, they are Queens."

"No, I mean in the hive."

"The club?"

"No," she corrected, "I mean in the chain of command. Someone's above them." At his blank expression she continued with a sigh, "It's a metaphor, Cam."

Elizabeth nodded. "There's a third party."

"Who?"

Sam glared at him in exasperation. "If we knew that we wouldn't be doing this."

John leaned back and looked briefly to the ceiling, trying to get back on track. "So in order to break up this party they have planned, we'll need to gather the pieces."

"That sounds about right." O'Neill pushed his chair from the table and stood. "Get it done."

"Sir, if I may," Elizabeth spoke up. When O'Neill paused she continued, "I don't know how reliable this intel is."

John shot her a quick look of surprise. "You're questioning Agent Ford?"

She hesitated, noting the tension in the room at her implication. "I know I have no history with him, but there was something about the way he handled himself that caused me concern," she said carefully.

After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, O'Neill was finally the one to speak. "Well, until we have something better to go on, this is it." His eyes darted from Elizabeth to the rest of his agents. "But be careful."

--

"Cynthia Parker, Alterra Corporation," Elizabeth introduced primly, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses and leaning over the table to scan the row of name tags.

"Here you are." The buxom blonde in the folding chair rose and selected the correct tag, handing it to Elizabeth. "Enjoy the conference."

"Oh I will," she assured her with a bright smile. She pinned her alias on the lapel of her charcoal jacket and tugged at the hem of her matching skirt before smoothing a wisp of hair back into her bun. "Wormhole physics has always been one of the more intriguing theoretical sciences. I've been looking forward to this for months."

"It's true," John confirmed, tucking his hands neatly into the pockets of his slacks and rocking ever so slightly on his heels, "she just won't stop talking about it." He smiled a goofy smile and stuck out his hand. "Tyler Price, Alterra Corp."

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Price," the blonde cooed, blinking up at him and accepting his outstretched hand.

"Please, call me Tyler." John ducked his head bashfully and let his hand linger in her grasp. "And the pleasure is most definitely mine."

"So, Tyler," she fluttered, drawing out his name as she stepped around the table to perch lightly on its edge and lean into his personal space, "what is it you do at Alterra Corp?"

"He's my assistant," Elizabeth supplied. She reached across the table and snatched John's name tag. "Ready?" she asked brightly, thrusting it into John's chest.

He shot a remorseful look at the blonde and shrugged his shoulders helplessly before accepting it. "As I'll ever be, boss."

"Thank you," Elizabeth called over her shoulder, tugging John down the hall. After a quick scan of her surroundings she tilted her head slightly and pressed her earpiece. "We're in."

_Copy that_, Sam answered, _we see you_.

Sam and Cameron, dressed in dark blue coveralls, appeared in the hallway near the end of the corridor. Cameron pulled out a large ring of keys and rifled through them before selecting one. With a brief nod to Sam, he unlocked a side door and they slipped quickly inside.

_We're in the maintenance corridor. We should reach the panel in one minute_.

Elizabeth and John continued down the hall, the click of her narrow heels echoing loudly as they made their way past the doorway where Sam and Cameron had disappeared. Stopping in front of the elevator, Elizabeth leaned forward to press the up arrow before clasping her hands in front of her and settling in to wait. Beside her, John craned his head to the side and pawed uncomfortably at his smoothed hair. He scrutinized himself in the hallway mirror.

Elizabeth sighed. "You look fine," she assured him.

John dropped his hand to his side, but his tone bordered on whiny. "I haven't combed my hair down like this since I was three."

She took a moment to consider him as the doors slid open. "It does make you look nerdy," she acknowledged, the corner of her mouth quirking into a grin as she stepped inside and selected their destination.

_Next time you can be the electrician, Bo_, Cameron offered as the doors closed. _I can do all the heroic stuff and you can keep your hair as spiky as you want_.

"I don't know," John said thoughtfully, "you look so cute in coveralls."

_You're not fooling anyone. We know you hate that you can't see my ass in these things_.

Elizabeth cut off any further retort. "How's the feed?" she asked.

_Almost done_, Sam answered. _We've overridden the elevator lock and can get you access to the floor. Our current loop should be able to buy you about six minutes to get in and out. You've got one secretary at the reception desk and a few neighboring associates in their offices_.

"Only six minutes, John," Elizabeth warned. "That means you'll have to cut back on the flirting. You'll just have to ask for her number without the subtle innuendos and charming lead-in."

"I do like a challenge."

The door opened with a ding and they stepped out into a reception area. The girl at the desk frowned. "Excuse me," she said, pulling herself to her feet, "this floor is restricted access. You're not allowed here."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Elizabeth said innocently, "we must have hit the wrong button." She looked around the foyer. "This isn't the way to the lecture hall?"

The secretary shook her head. "You need to be on the twentieth floor. This level is locked. How did you get here?"

"Magic fingers?" John guessed.

The woman visibly swallowed. "I'm sorry?"

"He does have a way with his hands," Elizabeth confirmed.

John stepped up close to the desk and flashed a roguish grin. "Would you like me to demonstrate?" He dropped his hand onto the secretary's and the woman's eyes rolled back in her head. Elizabeth was behind her before she lost consciousness, catching the limp body and easing the woman gently into the chair.

John peeled the latex skin from his index finger, careful not to touch the exposed surface, and slipped it into his pocket. As Elizabeth typed on the keyboard, John leaned over the desk and plucked the girl's badge off her lapel. "Meghan O'Riley," he read aloud.

"Needs access to room 2418," Elizabeth added.

_Give me one second – done_.

Elizabeth led the way down the corridor, John close on her heels. When they reached their destination he waved Meghan's badge over the magnetic lock. The door clicked open.

The office was standard: a large wooden desk with a computer, a set of grey armchairs, one unnaturally green plastic plant, and a garish excuse for art hanging prominently on an otherwise bare wall.

Elizabeth slid into the high-backed chair behind the desk and clicked at the keyboard. A password prompt appeared on the screen. She removed her glasses, flipped the small switch on the earpiece and set them on top of the tower.

"So which do you think we're more likely to use - the tear gas disguised as breath spray or the demagnetizing penny?" Elizabeth asked as the glasses whirred softly and John surveyed the room.

"You're mocking McKay," he said, checking behind the painting. "You realize, of course, I'm going to have to tell him."

"I'm not mocking, I'm just... impressed at his preparedness."

"No cool tech east of the Rockies?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Oh, you know. Cups and string." The glasses beeped and she slipped them back on. A nine-digit number appeared at the bottom of the lens and she typed it into the computer. The moment she struck the final key the screen changed.

"Damn it."

John, standing near the door to listen for movement, looked over his shoulder at her outburst. "What?" He crossed back to the desk. "Shit," he cursed the moment he saw the screen. "How long do we have?"

"I'd guess no more than sixty seconds," she answered, typing furiously on the keyboard.

Beside her, John leaned in closer. "Shit," he repeated.

Elizabeth continued to work as time ticked away.

"Damn it, Elizabeth, figure it out."

"I'm trying."

Sam's voice came over the comm. _They're going to realize we've looped the feed any minute now. You need to get out of there_.

John hovered over her shoulder. "Do you want me to do it?"

She spared him a glance. "No."

"I'm better at math than you."

"You are not," she defended.

"Sure I am. What's seven factorial?"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed but she didn't turn from the monitor.

"Five thousand forty," John answered.

"That's not fair," she insisted. "You answered your own question."

"That's basic. You should have that memorized."

_Um, guys? How about you have this conversation after you get out of there_.

Elizabeth hit the enter key. "Got it," she said triumphantly.

John pulled a disc out of his pocket and slipped it into the drive. The moment the information began to transfer an alarm sounded.

"Fantastic," John hissed. "Now we're going to need an alternate exit strategy." He dragged a file cabinet from the corner of the room and shoved it against the door.

_You've got four armed guards on their way down the hall, two in the elevator. More mobilizing on the top floor. I'd give the first set about forty seconds until they're on top of you_.

The data finished copying and Elizabeth ejected the disc and slipped it into her pocket. "Done." She watched as John wrapped his hands around the back of one of the visitor's chairs. "Twenty four stories?" she asked in disbelief. She'd jumped a few times, but this high was just suicide. "You have a rope in that suit, Batman?"

"Maybe. I haven't checked." The chair slammed through the window on his third try, dusting the room in shattered glass. "But I did notice a molding running the length of the building," he continued, knocking out the remaining fragments so that they could clear the frame. "Come on."

She stepped tentatively past him, bracing herself against him as she found her footing on the ledge. "Four inches wide," she said while balancing herself, "not even a challenge."

John rolled his eyes and followed her as they shimmied along the ledge and made their way to the end of the building. When they came to the corner staircase John reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a pen. "I bet now you wish you hadn't mocked McKay," he said as he turned the laser on and began to cut a large circle into the panel. "You'd better thank him for this."

"Mostly I'm thankful for glass-walled stairwells."

John finished the circle and pushed, causing the section to crash to the floor below. He went through first before offering Elizabeth his hand. She took it, following him through and landing with a crunch. They began a hurried descent down the stairs.

"Why can't the bad guys work on the second story?" he asked breathlessly.

"This is good for you. Gets your heart rate going."

"I think the alarms are enough to get my heart rate going. This just makes my calves hurt."

When they finally reached the ground floor, they barreled through the emergency exit and into the street. Sam and Cameron were waiting in the idling van.

They jumped in and slammed the doors behind them. As Cameron peeled out onto the street, Sam swiveled in her seat to look at Elizabeth. "You did that in heels?" she asked with a hint of awe. "That's classy."

--

John swayed slightly to the music, hands slipping down the silk of Elizabeth's long red dress. Her hair was spilling in tousled curls from a large clip, leaving her shoulders bare in the soft light of the chandelier. A string quartet played an unfamiliar melody and the richest of the rich, Seattle's high society, mingled around them in tuxedos and gowns. John's eyes followed Cameron as he wove through the crowd, drink tray held aloft. Dressed as a waiter, Cameron collected a pair of empty champagne flutes and slipped out of the room.

_Got it_, he told them.

Elizabeth and John broke apart, his hand brushing lightly down the side of her arm before finding the small of her back as he escorted her from the dance floor.

"Champagne, sir?" Cameron asked when they came upon him in the outer foyer.

John nodded and selected the closest glass. "Thank you."

"And the lady?"

Elizabeth nodded and grabbed the stem of the remaining flute, her free hand toying with the large red gem that dangled from her neck.

"There's a beautiful view from the balcony upstairs," Cameron said with a smile. "Quite a night for stars."

"Thank you," she said. "We'll have to have a look for ourselves."

Cameron bowed slightly and disappeared back into the party.

John followed Elizabeth up the central staircase, past the balcony and down a long hallway. When they were out of sight of the main thoroughfare, he stopped and placed his champagne on a hall table. Elizabeth peeled a thin layer of latex from the bowl of her flute and handed it to John before discarding the glass.

He nodded and they moved deeper into the hallway, rounded two corners and were approaching their next turn when Sam's voice sounded in his ear. _Two guards coming from the west_.

John looked at Elizabeth worriedly, but she pointed him to a nearby door. He opened it and slipped into what appeared to be a small closet. When he started to make room for her, Elizabeth shook her head indicating that John should shut himself inside. A moment later, the guards turned the corner into the hallway.

John watched through the crack he maintained in the door as Elizabeth clutched her stomach and doubled over as if in pain. When the guards reached her she let out a low moan.

"Guests aren't allowed here, ma'am," the guard said gruffly. "You need to go back downstairs."

She started to stand up, but then stumbled a little and fell forward toward the nearest guard. "I think I'm going to... oh, god, I'm going to be sick."

"Come on, lets go," the bigger guard instructed. He put a hand under her arm and turned her back toward the exit and out of John's line of sight. "No, no, this way." There was another moan from Elizabeth. "No – oh, Jesus – over here."

When the sound of the three making their way down the hall had faded John peeked out from his hiding place.

_You're clear, Bo_, Sam informed him.

He didn't waste time getting to the study. Once there, he took the latex Elizabeth had given him and raised it to the light, locating the print. He then smoothed it over the electronic pad beside the door and pressed down with his thumb. The red light on the side of the device blinked out and a green light illuminated. John eased the door open and slipped inside.

It didn't take him long to find the safe – they were always behind the paintings with hinges. He swung the canvas away and reached into his pocket, pulling out the small black box that Rodney had given him. John stuck the magnetized side against the metal door of the safe and pressed the button to activate it, watching as the digital numbers began to cycle. As the sixth digit flashed into place, the study door opened.

John drew his gun and spun around to find Elizabeth with her hands raised.

"It's just me," she said, walking toward him and slowly lowering her hands to her sides.

He slipped his gun back into its holster. "I thought you were watching the goons."

"I got bored." She jerked her thumb in the general direction of the hallway. "They're unconscious in the closet."

John shook his head and returned his attention to the safe. "Almost done."

When Rodney's device entered the eleventh digit, the lock clicked. John opened the safe and sifted through the contents - passports, wads of bills, envelopes, jewelry. He located the flash drive and grabbed it, swapping it out with a fake from his pocket. "Let's go."

As they exited the office John removed the latex from the pad before leading Elizabeth toward the staircase.

_One guard around the next corner_, Sam informed them. _Ten seconds_.

"Bogota?" Elizabeth asked with a grin.

Instead of answering, John snagged her by the wrist, snaked his free arm around her waist and backed her against the wall. He only had time to whisper, "Don't slap me," before pressing his lips to hers.

_Of course_, Sam said in their ears, _the kissing couple diversion. How very James Bond_.

_You know, Penny, we don't use that one as often as we should_.

_Spare me, Belle_.

"Hey!" a suited man barked. "This area is off limits."

John pulled slowly away from Elizabeth, taking only a moment note her bewildered expression before turning to face the guard. "Just looking for a little privacy."

"Keep looking."

He let a smile creep across his face and his eyes slipped guiltily to Elizabeth. "Couldn't wait. Can you blame me?"

The guard jerked his head toward the exit. "Take it outside, man."

John grabbed Elizabeth's hand and dragged her toward the exit. "Now there's an idea."

--

"She was totally mocking it."

Elizabeth shot him a withering glare and turned her focus to Rodney. "That is absolutely untrue. I was impressed. Really impressed."

"Well, of course you were impressed," Rodney said, still working intently on his calculations.

"That pen saved us," she continued. John rolled his eyes and Elizabeth made sure Rodney wasn't looking before sticking out her tongue. "And had it been night, the infrared contact lenses would have been invaluable."

John pointed at her. "See! She's doing it again!"

"I'm not doing anything! It was a compliment!"

"McKay, I think you should stop letting her use your tech." When he didn't respond, John prompted, "Rodney?"

"Uh oh."

"What do you mean, 'uh oh'?"

"What, you want a synonym? Not good. Oh darn. Dangnabit—"

"McKay."

"I mean," he pulled the flash drive out of his computer and tossed it on the desk, "that this is a problem."

"How so?"

"I managed to decrypt the data you retrieved from the disc and this drive." Rodney entered a few keystrokes and a satellite image of the Seattle area appeared. He gestured to the screen. "And I found the location of the bomb."

John leaned forward to get a better look. "Uh oh."

Elizabeth surveyed the image. She wasn't very familiar with Seattle's layout, but wasn't that – "The airport?"

Rodney shook his head. "Maybe peripherally, but that's not the main target." He pointed to the map just south of SeaTac. "They're going to hit the Federal Detention Center."

--

Two hours later, John, Elizabeth, Sam and Cameron adjusted the last of their gear and quietly exited their van. Sam directed the infrared camera toward the building and checked her comm. "Rodney?"

_We're picking up four bodies inside_.

"Not a lot of muscle for bomb-sitting duty," Sam observed.

"You don't know that," Cameron countered. "McKay said nothing about the size of the muscle on the bodies. They could be four guys the size of the Hulk. Hell, one guy the size of the Hulk would be more muscle than all of us put together. I mean, I'm pretty well built, but Bo's just plain scrawny."

"I am not scrawny."

Sam coughed to smother a laugh.

"I'm not!"

She grinned. "I wasn't saying you were."

John shook his head. "You spend too much time with Cam." He checked his clip and slammed it home. "Let's move out."

--

"How are we doing?"

Rodney almost jumped from his chair when O'Neill spoke from directly behind him. He'd been listening to the team on the ground and hadn't heard him come in. "Fine, sir. Just fine."

O'Neill stepped closer until he was looming over Rodney and folded his arms over his chest. "Only four guys?"

"Could be four large guys."

He just raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind." Rodney took off his headset and hit a few keys. The audio from the comms began to pump through his desktop speakers.

They watched on the monitor as John and Elizabeth cautiously approached the targets from the north, and Sam and Cameron skirted the south corridor, making steady progress.

_Team two in place_, Sam advised.

John's voice was a whisper. _Team one is set_.

O'Neill nodded and Rodney gave the authorization. "You have a go."

The two men watched as, on his order, the teams entered the room and surrounded the guards.

_Drop your weapons! I said drop your weapons! And step away! Now! Don't touch—_

Gunfire erupted a moment later. When it stopped, it was Elizabeth who spoke. _We have them secured_.

Rodney keyed his mic. "Great, now locate the bomb."

_We already did_.

--

As Sam and Cameron bound the guards with quick-ties, John dropped to his knees near the large metal box. He removed a screwdriver from his vest went to work on the casing.

His hands were trembling slightly by the time he removed the final screw. Bombs were not high on his list of enjoyable activities – ranking somewhere between pinochle and being the target of a firing squad. As he lifted the lid and caught his first glimpse of the device, he heard Elizabeth let out a low whistle.

She touched her hand to her earpiece. "One of them activated the countdown before we could stop him. We now have three minutes, Rodney. Where are we in the evacuation?"

_The FDC has successfully been evacuated and all flights to and from SeaTac have been suspended. All you have to do is disarm that bomb so we can avoid a nasty press conference. And, well_, he added as an afterthought, _so you don't blow yourselves up_.

"Your concern is truly heartwarming."

_You know how terrible press conferences are_.

John sighed and turned to Cameron. "You all might as well get out of here. It doesn't take four of us to hold a screwdriver."

Cameron eyed him warily. "You want us out? What about you?"

"I'll work better if it's quiet in here." He nodded to the tied-up guards. "No need for extra casualties."

Cameron shifted uncomfortably and then cast a long look at Sam. She shook her head, but reached for the nearest guard. "Guess you get a pass today. Up!"

As Sam and Cameron shuffled the guards through the door, John looked at Elizabeth. "You too."

Her eyes narrowed. "You've got to be kidding me."

He was becoming more desperate as the clock continued to count down. "Look, stop arguing. I need you out of here. Now."

"I'm not having this conversation again, John. If we're partners, we're partners. We stick together. You don't do this alone." She got down on her knees with him and peered at the device. "Now hand me those wire cutters."

For the life of him, John had no idea how to handle this woman. Shaking his head, he passed her the cutters, muttering _insufferable_, under his breath.

She looked up at him. "Oh, you're only just beginning to know how stubborn I can be." Pushing apart the wires, she pointed. "That looks like it could be the secondary trigger. And here," she traced a long blue wire, "that could lead to the power source."

John looked again at the ticking clock. Removing his gloves, he wiped his hands on his pants as he studied the tangle of brightly colored wires that spilled from the central panel. "So your vote is blue? I usually try to go for the green."

"How should we decide; rock, paper, scissors?" He glared at her. "All right, all right; let's go for your green."

With painstakingly slow movements John separated the wires to isolate green while Elizabeth inserted the cutters. She looked up at him. "On three?" At his nod she began to count down. "One, two -" She cut the wire and the clock immediately went black.

"What the hell? I thought we were going on three?"

"I knew you'd flinch."

"_I'd_ flinch? Who's the professional here? Who was it again that picked green and saved the day?"

Elizabeth paused a moment, examining the device more closely. "You might want to dial back the self-accolades, hotshot." She drew her knife from her vest and wedged it into a small sliver in the cap they had assumed was the detonator. Levering the blade, she forced it open. "Looks like it wouldn't have mattered. This isn't anything more than an alarm clock and a bundle of wire." She shook her head. "I knew it. I _knew_ this was too easy."

"Knew what?" John leaned in to get a closer look. "What are you talking about?"

Elizabeth tossed the cap onto the floor. "Ford. It must be a decoy."

--

"Michael Kenmore," O'Neill announced, the large screen behind him projecting the face of a man in his mid-thirties. "A known associate of Vela Queen, he was suspected of being her superior – possibly a leader of the entire Wraith organization. This was never substantiated. His laundry list of convictions includes assault, arson, and fraud. He is currently being held for trial on multiple counts of murder and kidnapping. Thanks to our phony bomb evacuation, Kenmore escaped federal custody."

"Well, you've got to hand it to these Queen ladies," Cameron said, tapping his pen on his chin. "That was a pretty solid plan."

Sam sighed.

"What? I can't give props to criminal masterminds?"

"It wasn't them," Elizabeth said, flipping though the file in front of her. "It was him. He was the third party. He set this whole thing up. He set _us_ up."

"Our priority now," O'Neill continued, "is to find Kenmore and bring him back into custody."

"What about Ford?" John asked, glancing briefly at Elizabeth. "Have we heard from him?"

"We've had no contact from Agent Ford since your meet. We're operating under the assumption that he's still too far in to make a safe drop."

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "And what about the possibility that he's in on this?"

"It's something we're going to have to consider."

"So," Cameron said, breaking the awkward silence that followed that revelation, "instead of bringing down the bad guy we actually released the bad guy – does that mean the barbeque is off?"

"Is Sheppard's birthday still tomorrow?" O'Neill asked.

"I'd assume so, sir."

"The cake has already been purchased?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then the barbeque is still on. We'll have as many agents as possible attempting to locate Kenmore. When we spot him, we move."

--

"So," Teyla Emmagen began as she stepped into the kitchen, "I've been reading your mission reports."

John didn't turn around, instead continuing his search of the refrigerator. "Spy," he accused.

"Occupational hazard," she corrected.

He selected a beer and turned to Teyla. "Want one?" She nodded and he grabbed another before closing the door and stepping up to the counter. He opened the bottles and handed her one.

"You're working surprisingly well with your new partner."

John shrugged and took a pull of his beer.

"Considering," she added and John flinched. At his reaction she smiled. "I thought it was her."

John feigned confusion. "Her who?"

Teyla narrowed her gaze. "We worked together for how long? You can't honestly believe you have secrets from me, John."

He picked at the label of his bottle, refusing to meet her eyes. "Can't a guy hope?"

"For as long as I've known you, John Sheppard, you have never been serious about a woman. There had to be a reason, and I now believe that she is it," Teyla concluded. "She's the one."

John bristled. "I have no idea what you're talking about. There is no 'one.'"

"Mmm hmm."

"You know how I told you I was disappointed you were promoted and couldn't be my partner anymore?" he asked. When Teyla nodded he continued, "Well I lied."

"I know." She smiled. "'Disappointed' doesn't even begin to cover it."

John was about to respond when Elizabeth entered through the back door. Her eyes flitted between John and Teyla and she paused, clearly uncomfortable with the situation she found herself in. Finally, she lifted her hands, indicating the three empty beer bottles she was holding. "I drew the short straw."

John ignored Teyla's soft smile and focused his attention on Elizabeth. He waived a hand in Teyla's direction. "Elizabeth, this is Teyla Emmagen, Regional Chief of International Operations and my former partner. Teyla, this is my temporary partner, Elizabeth Weir."

"You're alive," Elizabeth said, shifting the bottles to one hand and extending the other.

Teyla raised her eyebrows as she shook Elizabeth's hand. "Had you heard otherwise?"

Elizabeth's eyes danced. "I just assumed no one survived being John's partner."

"It was a feat." Teyla laughed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, finally."

"Finally?"

John coughed into his hand and Teyla mercifully shifted her attention to the door. "Well, I believe I got what I came for," she looked to John, and after watching him squirm for a moment indicated her beer. "I should get back and track down Rodney. Earlier he said something about flammable mascara. This, I have to see."

She was out the back door before Elizabeth had a chance to respond.

John slumped onto a barstool and continued to pick at the label of his beer. "So," he began.

"So," Elizabeth echoed, crossing to the sink to deposit the bottles.

"You headed back to Chicago now?"

She paused and turned to face him. "Kenmore's still at large."

John shrugged. "Not really your problem."

"I like to finish what I start."

"Since when?" he blurted, feeling vulnerable and frustrated from his conversation with Teyla.

Elizabeth stepped toward him and braced her hands against the counter, looking at him calmly. "John," she started slowly, "what is that supposed to mean? You've been acting like this since I first got here. What are you really talking about? I feel like I have a right to know at this point."

John released a breath, noting that his arms had instinctively folded across his chest, protecting himself from her. Shaking his head he forced himself to focus, forced himself to really look at her, standing there in his kitchen, in his life – wavy brown hair, piercing green eyes – and he allowed himself to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Teyla was right.

"John?" she prompted.

He took a second to compose himself and finally voiced the thought that had been bothering him since the moment Jack O'Neill had first said her name. "You left."

"Left?" Elizabeth was clearly confused. "The academy? I got assigned to the Midwest."

"I'm not talking about the job, Elizabeth."

She shook her head and her face melted into a rueful smile. "What did I leave? Us?" She pushed off the counter. "There was no 'us' John."

"That's not true," he argued.

Her smile faded. "Don't give me that. Both on the job and off – you didn't need me. You didn't care then; don't insult me by pretending to care now."

"You think I didn't care?" She turned away and he stood, following her as she retreated to the far side of the room. "You were the one who wanted the relationship kept a secret. I didn't meet your standards. I was never good enough for you."

"It wasn't a relationship," she fired back, spinning to face him. "The fact that my involvement with you wasn't public knowledge was for your benefit. And it worked out pretty nicely for you as I recall, so I don't know why you're so bitter about it."

"Your 'involvement' with me? What –"

The patio door banged open. "Sorry to interrupt," Cameron stepped into the kitchen, his eyes darting between the pair, "but you're going to want to hear this."


	4. Chapter 4

"We received word from the marshals," O'Neill announced from the head of the picnic table, a half-eaten hotdog left abandoned in front of him. He was no less imposing. "Apparently, our target is still in the area. Fifteen minutes ago a federal safe house was compromised. The witness being held there was shot and killed, along with two officers."

Elizabeth spoke up. "Who was the witness?"

"Joseph Markham. One of three key witnesses in Kenmore's upcoming trial."

"How did they know where to find him?"

Standing in the middle of the lawn with his arms crossed, John's eyes darkened. "They've got someone on the inside."

"Ford?" Cameron guessed.

"We don't know, but we're going to find out. The remaining two witnesses are being relocated. Any information Agent Ford may have known is now considered compromised."

"And those are all the precautions we're taking? We're just banking on it being Aiden?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at John's use of Ford's first name.

"No," O'Neill assured him, "those are not all the precautions we're taking. We're also assigning teams to both witnesses until this issue is resolved. Agents will be posted at all entrances, on all sides. We're surrounding these guys and we're not going to let anyone reach them." O'Neill picked up his plate and threw it in the trash. "That's an order."

--

Cameron was opening his car door when he heard his name being called from behind him. He looked up to see Elizabeth walking briskly toward him.

"Hey Cam, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." He nodded. "What's up?"

"Agent Ford," she began, almost hesitantly, "what's his story?"

"Story?"

"I mean," she looked down at her hands, toying with her keys, "with John. He seems –"

"Protective?"

"I was going to say defensive, but yeah."

Cameron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the top of his car. "The kid was his partner for a while."

She looked up at that. "Why didn't it last?"

He shrugged one shoulder and tried to find the right words. "John's – he's a hard guy to partner."

She smiled. "This much I know."

"Ford was too young," he continued, "too wild."

"Too wild for John? Mr. Reckless himself?"

Cameron shook his head. "John's not reckless because he's wild – he's reckless because he won't let anything stop him from protecting people, from making sure that no harm comes to anyone."

"Except himself."

"Yeah, well, that's an acceptable trade off for him. He'll take the hit as long as no one else gets hurt."

She looked away, letting her eyes drift to the street, unfocused.

Cameron watched her for a moment. "Did I answer your question?"

Elizabeth turned back at the sound of his voice. "Yeah, you did." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Thanks Cam."

He watched her walk away. "Anytime."

--

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the car. Beside her, John was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Is that really necessary?" she asked without turning from the window.

His fingers stilled. "I'm sorry, was the noise interrupting the deafening silence?"

She sighed and reached for her radio. "Status?"

_Clear. No sign of activity_, responded the agent posted at the back of the house.

"Same for the front," she informed him. "Street's quiet. How's our witness?"

_Upset that the Seahawks aren't winning_, answered a voice from inside.

"People still get upset when they lose? Isn't that like hoping for clear skies and sunshine in the weather forecast?"

John took the radio from her as the agent squawked a response. "Don't dis the Seahawks, Elizabeth," he warned, switching it off. "Especially when you're a Cubs fan."

She huffed but let the jab slide.

John rubbed a hand over his face. "I should have brought snacks."

Elizabeth leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, rifling through its contents. "You don't keep any in here? No survival kit?"

"Usually, but I blew through it on the last stakeout. And I know they say Twinkies never expire, but those were questionable."

She slammed the compartment shut. "Gross."

"You never could stomach moldy food."

She wrinkled her nose. "There are people who can?"

"You won't even eat something with an expiration date three days from now."

"You don't know how accurate that date is," she argued, "it could be completely arbitrary."

"You really think that food companies would let customers consume spoiled food?"

"Have you ever read the ingredients on your Twinkies? Food companies don't care what you consume."

John shook his head and smiled. "You really haven't changed."

Elizabeth quieted and turned back to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the rain come down in sheets, drops illuminated by the streetlight in front of them.

"I didn't want to come when they gave me this assignment," she admitted after a long stretch of silence.

"I might have tried to get reassigned when I found out it was you," John confessed in return. Then he added, "Several times."

She turned to find him with his head down and his eyes closed. She took the opportunity to study him. He was older now, more mature, but still boyishly handsome at the same time. He still had the same face that years ago had made her heart beat faster, and, if she were truthful with herself, still had the same effect on her today.

He opened his eyes and she turned away quickly.

"I don't really know how we got like this, Elizabeth," he said softly. "How it ended as badly as it did."

She chuckled. "With your history of relationships?"

He didn't smile at her teasing, and his eyes bore into hers when he said, "I thought it was different with you."

She paused, taken aback. "John," she started, feeling uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, "I don't blame you."

"Blame me? Blame me for what?"

"For what happened." She shrugged. "You were young – we were young. It probably wouldn't have lasted any longer anyway."

He shifted in his seat, twisting to face her. "What do you mean 'for what happened'? What exactly happened?"

"With Chaya," she said with exaggerated patience.

John almost choked. "Chaya?"

"That's why I never said anything," she continued. "I figured there was nothing to say. I just assumed we were something we weren't and –"

"Chaya?" he repeated, sounding confused.

"Yes, Chaya. I saw you." She wanted to wince when she heard how bitter she sounded, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral.

"Saw me?"

"What is this, repeat after me? Yes, I saw you with Chaya." She hissed the name through her teeth.

"Well you couldn't have seen much – there wasn't much to see. She kissed me," he rolled his shoulders, pinched the bridge of his nose, "I didn't know you were there."

"Yeah, well, I was."

He clenched his jaw. "I pushed her away, Elizabeth. I was with you, I had you –"

She waved him off. "It doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter? You left because of a mistaken assumption on your part. You left because you thought I was with someone else when I wasn't. That matters."

"Intentional or not, the kiss was just a symptom. We worked against each other more than we worked with each other – we're too different. Besides, we were practically kids, John. It wasn't serious."

"It wasn't?" His fingers clenched closed and then opened. "I was."

"No, John. If you were…"

"If I was, what?" he pressed.

She shook her head. "If you were, you would have tried. You would have come after me, called me. Something - anything."

"I thought you left me."

"And it didn't warrant an email?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he demanded. "And even if I did, would it have made it any better? Would you have believed me?"

She flinched, but didn't turn from him. "I guess we'll never know, will we?"

John sighed. "Just answer this – in all these years, have you ever thought about what things could have been like between us?"

She started to wipe her palms on her jeans, but he grabbed her hands and forced her to meet his eyes.

"Just answer me, Elizabeth," he pleaded.

"John, it doesn't…" she started and then stopped. The moment stretched, and she listened to the rain fall against the windshield. "Yes," she said finally, letting the word fall between them.

He took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "But what's in the past is in the –"

His hands pulled her toward him. She shivered lightly when she felt his thumbs run over the insides of her wrists. Her lips parted slightly and she leaned in…

And then he was kissing her, pressing his lips to hers with a feather-light touch, then another, and then another. When her chin lifted in response and she pressed her body into his, John responded with a hunger she had never felt before. His hands skimmed up her arms, fisted in her hair; and his teeth drug at her lower lip until her mouth opened and –

The radio crackled. _Sheppard! Weir! Do you copy?_

"Shit," John cursed. Elizabeth could barely hear him over the pounding of her own pulse. "This is Sheppard, we copy."

_Status of your witness_?

"All's clear," John shot a look to Elizabeth before keying the mic again. "What's going on?"

_We've been hit. The second witness is dead_.

"Shit," John said again.

_You're not safe. Get your witness and bring him in_.

--

O'Neill slammed his file onto the table. "I don't know who Kenmore has recruited to do his dirty work, but they took out a team of agents as well as our witness before we even knew they were there!"

"Sir—"

"Ronon Dex is the only key witness in Michael Kenmore's trial that is still alive. We're going to keep him that way."

"Yes, sir."

"We're going to pack that safe house so full of agents and marshals that there won't be enough room to scratch your ass." He picked up the stack of mission briefings and began to distribute them, tossing them across the table one by one. "All streets within a ten block radius will be lined with agency vehicles. Kenmore is not getting in this time. If he does, he'll be facing a firing squad."

Cameron flipped open his packet and scanned his orders. He and Sam would be with the team of agents inside the house.

"At least that's what Kenmore will think." At the startled looks around him, he continued, "Only a few agents will know that this is not where we're putting him. Dex will actually be relocated to a hotel on the other side of the city." He looked to John and Elizabeth. "Sheppard and Weir, you'll be with him and you will be absolutely under the radar. The rest of us will be sitting pretty in the midst of the biggest team of agents I can find, just hoping Kenmore is over-confident enough to come right to us.

"McKay, you're on the intelligence team. Figure out who the hell the leak is and plug it." Without another word, he spun on his heel and strode out of the room.

--

1John glanced at his watch. He never had been good at waiting. And this witness wasn't making him any more comfortable. The big guy was in the attached room, sprawled out on the bed with his fingers laced behind his head, like he was on some sort of mini vacation. It wasn't as if John couldn't handle a six and a half foot tall, two hundred pound guy that he'd pulled seven knives off; he just didn't want to do it for fun.

1He looked around the room again. Elizabeth stood across from him, checking her gear and periodically pulling back the shade to scan the parking lot. John sighed. They hadn't really had a chance to talk since their time in the car, but it wasn't as if he knew what he wanted to say.

Okay, well, he wouldn't let that stop him.

He pushed away from the table and stood. "Listen, about earlier –"

She waved him off. "Forget about it."

"Right. Forget about it."

"It's good we cleared things up," she added, still looking out the window.

"Yeah. Okay." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's good things are clearer now."

Elizabeth dropped her hand from the shade and turned to him. "And that," she cleared her throat, "the kiss – it, uh…"

"It didn't mean anything," John finished for her. He took a couple of steps toward the middle of the room.

"Right." She nodded. "Just old feelings."

"It's in the past."

"Exactly. The past."

"And you're leaving soon anyway, so it's not like anything could –"

"It wouldn't work out," she agreed, stepping away from the window. "Long-distance and everything."

"Sure, I mean – I don't even have scented stationary or anything."

Elizabeth smiled. "Which is a mandatory element of a cross-country romance."

"If the paper didn't smell you wouldn't grasp the full meaning. It's hard to convey emotion with words alone."

"True." She moved toward him, eyes down as she twisted her fingers together. "How do you put into words how much you want to kiss someone?"

"You couldn't," John agreed.

She stopped and looked up. "No, you couldn't," she echoed.

He took another step. "So they'd never know."

"Right." She paused. "That would be a shame."

"We haven't even seen each other in years."

"We're practically strangers."

"This is silly."

"Ridiculous." She took another step.

He was close enough now to feel the heat from her body. "It's not like we could –"

"We couldn't."

"Right." He licked his lips. "Elizabeth, I –"

His radio squawked.

_Sheppard. Do you copy_?

He reluctantly turned from Elizabeth, keying his radio and speaking into the shoulder mic. "I hear you Rodney, what's happening?"

_We've got a problem. They attacked the safe house just like we planned_, he answered, words tumbling out in a rush. _Both Queens were involved in the assault. We've got them in custody and no one was seriously injured_.

"Well, that's great. What about Kenmore?"

_That's the problem. We found the leak, Sheppard. Ford was working with his old partner – they'd both turned on us. They were feeding the Wraith information in exchange for drugs and status. It was a –_

"Ford? Was he there?"

_No, he wasn't and neither was Kenmore. We think they're coming after you. Kenmore had to have known all along. He knew it was a ruse. He sent the Queens into a trap and saved the target for himself. We're sending people over but you've got to get the witness and move now_.

"Damn it." John cut the connection and exchanged a short glance with Elizabeth. "Ronon," he called to the next room as he reached for his tactical bag, "we're going to have to move."

By the time he got to the connecting door, the big man was already standing near the window. He was dangerously calm as he turned back to John and jerked his thumb toward the window. "Too late, we've got company." Then he smiled and it chilled John to his toes. "How about you let me carry a gun?"

When John didn't answer, Ronon continued, "The guy is gunning for _me_. Shouldn't I be allowed to defend myself?"

John hesitated, and it was Elizabeth who broke the stalemate. "We're going to need all the help we can get." She reached into her waistband and tossed Ronon her backup pistol.

He nodded his thanks. Grabbing the gun, he checked the clip and then stared pointedly at Elizabeth.

She sighed and tossed him a few clips of ammo. "You certainly are the demanding one." She nodded toward the front of the building. "How many did you see?"

"Counted six, dressed in black," he paused, and John thought for a moment that he might actually be flirting with Elizabeth, "just like you. Might be hard for me to tell you all apart."

John had suddenly lost his patience with the man. "Well, we'll try to make that easy for you. You stay in this room. We picked it because it has the most exits, but that's also going to mean they could be coming from any direction. The safest course for you is to stay put and not let anyone through that door until the cavalry arrives.1" He tossed a small earpiece to Ronon. "Put that in and hopefully you'll take the time to listen when we tell you it's us at the door."

John looked over at Elizabeth. "You want to come with me and see if we can even the odds?"

She smiled. "Love to."

They made their way to the front door of the main room and opened it cautiously, peering into the darkened hallway. "One negative of the seedy hotel witness hiding plan," he whispered to Elizabeth, "poor lighting." Scanning the area, John raised a hand to indicate movement near the end of the corridor.

He flattened against the wall and took careful aim, waiting to see who would appear. When a man dressed in black crept out, John squeezed off a quick shot. The satisfaction of seeing him hit the ground was short-lived when return fire came his way. John threw himself onto the floor, landing with a thump and rolling back into the room before rising to his feet.

Elizabeth looked him over. "You okay?" After John's affirming nod, she indicated she would go high and that he should go low. John agreed silently and watched as she counted to three. They spun into the hall and…

1John hit the floor again as at least half a dozen rounds smashed into the doorframe. Answering fire came from above him, providing a bit of cover. He looked up to see Elizabeth braced against the doorway, gesturing for him to make it across the hall. John grimaced. He was going to look like one of those ducks at a shooting range.

With a grunt, he lunged across the hall and dipped his shoulder into the closest door, cracking the hinges and allowing him access. Scrambling back to his feet, John flattened himself against the wall and then slipped back to the door as a burst of gunfire sounded in the hall. He cautiously peered out into the darkness. "Elizabeth?"

She was squatting in the hallway, up against a wall. "I got one but I only clipped the other. He's in the far room on the right."

"Well, that's two down, one injured, and we haven't seen the other three."

"Hopefully, they're the get-away drivers and don't know the first thing about weapons."

In spite of the situation, John laughed lightly. "We should be so lucky."

"I'd say we're due. Ready?"

He nodded and followed Elizabeth as she quietly made her way down the hall. She gestured with her weapon to the door she believed the man had entered. John put his finger to his lips and then held up three fingers. Elizabeth nodded silently.

On the count of three, John burst through the door, keeping low to the ground. The man inside launched himself over the bed, scrambling for cover. John took one long stride and dove after him, landing heavily on the man and pinning him to the ground with a forearm across his throat.

When John saw the man's face his eyes snapped open in shock. "Ford! What the hell are you doing here?"

Ford grunted, eyes red and wild. "My job!"

John hung on as Ford struggled to free himself. "You shot at me."

"Like I said," he ground out through clenched teeth, "my job."

"I don't understand."

He continued to fight John's grip. "You wouldn't."

John shoved the muzzle of his gun into his ribs. "Where's Kenmore?"

"You'll never—"

"John!" Elizabeth called a warning and John rolled, spinning Ford with him just as gunfire erupted. Ford's body jerked as the slugs from his own man's gun hit. John returned fire in short bursts and heard Elizabeth firing as well; then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended. Cautiously, he pushed Ford off him and climbed to his feet. Elizabeth was standing over another body, her weapon gripped tightly in her hand.

Straightening, John crossed to her. He looked between the man on the floor and Elizabeth and said simply, "Thanks."

She looked over to where Ford lay. "Is that—"

John didn't follow her gaze. "He's dead."

"John—"

"It's done, Elizabeth."

She nodded. "Two more."

Just then there was an explosion of gunfire. The two froze for an instant before John sprinted to the door. "Ronon!"

They made it back to the room in record time and stopped just outside of it. From inside they heard the sound of breaking glass. Unsure of what they would find, they entered slowly, guns drawn.

In the middle of the room, the table and chairs were upturned as if a storm had passed through. There was no one in sight.

"He put up a fight."

Elizabeth was scanning the room. "I don't see any blood."

1Suddenly, John's scalp prickled. Without a second thought, he threw himself to one side, rolling and coming up with pistol high. He didn't have to search long to find the threat; behind the door stood a heavily armed Michael Kenmore.

1John and Elizabeth stood perfectly still and watched as the barrel of his rifle swung back and forth between them. They were both too far away to make a try for it. John swore under his breath.

"Well, well," Kenmore said. "What a scrappy little pair."

"I think John prefers 'scrawny.'" Elizabeth smiled. "Is this the part where you say something about the two of us being a thorn in your side?"

"Maybe," Kenmore acknowledged, "if I knew or cared who the hell you were."

"That's disappointing," John said, finger tensing on the trigger but still in no position to fire. "Foil a bad guy's plan and I at least expect a stern lecture."

"What plan exactly did you foil?"

"Okay," John conceded, "point to you."

"My plan has thus far been flawless. And, unfortunately for Mr. Dex, it's looking as though it will continue on that path. Now you can drop your weapons before one of you actually gets hurt."

When Kenmore shifted the gun to Elizabeth, John slowly bent down and placed his gun on the floor, kicking it to the far corner of the room and indicating for Elizabeth to do the same. When he straightened, he smirked at Kenmore. "So is now the part where you tell us your endgame and then kill us?"

Kenmore raised an eyebrow. "I watch movies too, Mr. FBI. If I tell you the plan, then you may actually do some damage. We wouldn't want that."

"No, we wouldn't want that."

"Are we done with the banter now? I have places to be."

"Yeah, I'm done." John turned to Elizabeth. "Anything you wanted to add?"

"Yeah, there was one thing."

"Oh?" Kenmore asked. "And what was that?"

She glanced at John and then turned back to Kenmore. "Bogota."

A split second later Elizabeth dove straight into Kenmore. He swung his weapon toward her, but it was too late; she wrapped both hands on the barrel and twisted, jerking it in Kenmore's hands even as she smashed to the ground and the gun fired into her body.

The sound of the gunshot spurred John into action. With a roar he launched himself at Kenmore, caught him around the legs and brought him crashing to the ground.

Elizabeth was on the floor next to him, but John didn't have time to go to her. Instead he rolled and scrambled to his feet in time to see a fist swinging toward his head. He threw out his left to block the punch but was only able to redirect it enough so the blow glanced off his cheek instead of breaking his nose.

1With a surprising amount of speed, Kenmore was on top of him, whipping a left upward toward John's chin and connecting with the side of his jaw. His head snapped back and he shook into focus again just in time to see the blur of Kenmore's hand as it swung in an arc toward John's face. John saw a brief flash of metal as he once again threw up his left to block and stumbled backward, trying to keep his footing. For a split second, John thought Kenmore had missed, but the fire lancing across his forearm told him otherwise as he took another step back, pain radiating from the slash. Kenmore was on him an instant later, trying to press his advantage. John managed to block the next two slashes, but an attempt at evading the third earned him another cut, this time across his midsection.

John knew that time was quickly slipping away from him and that each passing second provided Kenmore with an increased advantage. If he didn't find a way to end this quickly, Kenmore would find a lethal opening.

The thought had barely formed in John's mind when Kenmore again leapt forward, arm swinging downward, and John instinctively shot out a hand to catch Kenmore's wrist and stop the blade momentarily, then balled his right hand into a fist and used his body's momentum to slam into Kenmore's gut with a satisfying thud. Still holding Kenmore's wrist, John immediately pivoted against Kenmore, throwing a hip into his pelvis and at the same time wrenching down on the man's arm and causing him to flip neatly through the air.

Kenmore landed with a crash on top of an upturned table. John moved in to press his first advantage, but was again surprised at Kenmore's speed when the other man nimbly jumped to his feet and turned to face John, a murderous look on his face. Impossibly, Kenmore had managed to retain his hold on the knife despite the heavy impact.

"You don't want to do this up close and personal, that's fine," Kenmore growled as he straightened his large frame to his full height. "As for me, I prefer to be close enough to taste a bit of the blood as it drains; but I'm just as happy to kill you from a distance."

Without unlocking his eyes from John's, Kenmore spun the knife in his hand, now holding it by the blade. His lips spread into a grin as he drew his arm back to make the throw, and John braced himself.

_CRACK_

The impact of the bullet spun Kenmore and he landed facedown on the floor. He made one attempt to rise, but was unable lift his body and fell back to the ground. A moment later the room was still.

John bent over and braced his hands on his knees to give himself time to catch his breath. He stayed where he was as Ronon walked over and retrieved Kenmore's gun, then jabbed a toe at the fallen man, rolling him over before bending down to check the pulse in his neck.

Ronon looked up. "He's alive."

"Is he going to be able to escape?"

"He's not going to be able to do much of anything."

"Where the hell did you come from?"

Ronon shrugged. "Window." He nodded toward the outside. "Had to take care of the sixth guy first." John wasn't sure, but he thought the big man was smiling again. "Figured you could handle yourself for a few minutes."

"Well," John said between breaths, "I guess it's a good thing we gave you a gun."

He heard a low groan from the far side of the room and hurried to Elizabeth. When he reached her he radioed Rodney for an ambulance.

He knelt beside her. "Elizabeth?" Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

She winced. "Just a small bullet hole. Damn rifle fire from two feet hurts like hell, though."

She went to brace her arm on the floor, but grimaced the moment her hand touched the ground.

"Easy. We'll get the medic here ASAP." He reached down and carefully moved her shirt away from the wound, trying to determine the extent of the injury. When he pulled his hand back it was covered in blood. "Why the hell did you dive toward the crazy man with the gun?" he asked softly. "Did you forget the part where 'Bogota' means that you're going to tap dance to distract him?"

"No taps," she grunted, nodding toward her feet.

"Looks like you broke your arm too."

She shook her head, trying to maintain focus. "Couldn't let him shoot my backup."

"Your backup," John tried to keep his tone light as he continued to look her over. "I thought you were mine."

"You were mistaken." She frowned as she looked at him. "You don't look like you're much better. You're bleeding." She paused, catching her breath. "You okay?"

"Me?" He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'm just worried about you."

Her eyes were starting to droop. "I think my arm's broken."

"Yeah, I know. I think you've also got a bullet in your shoulder."

"You could be right about that. Maybe both."

Sirens wailed in the distance and John gently rested his hand on her forehead. "Elizabeth?"

"Hmm?"

He stroked her skin lightly. "You shouldn't have taken that bullet for me."

She smiled and closed her eyes. "That's okay, John. You can take the next one."

--

Three days later, John was winding his way toward his workstation when he saw Elizabeth sitting at her temporary desk. Well, not sitting exactly. She was bent over in her chair, right arm in a sling strapped to her chest, straining with her left hand to reach a pen that had fallen to the floor.

John smothered a laugh as he bent down and grabbed it. He squatted on his heels and pointed the pen at her. "I'm fairly certain the doctor wouldn't recommend abdominal crunches – even from a chair – to one who has recently suffered a shoulder wound and a broken arm," he chided.

The force of her answering glare was weakened by the grimace that accompanied her attempt to sit up.

John rose to his feet and helped her ease herself upright.

"Okay, so that move was probably ill-advised," she admitted with a wince.

"Probably." He grinned. "Welcome back."

She smiled graciously. "Thank you."

He perched on the edge of her desk and waved the pen in front of her. "Want me to write something on your cast?"

She didn't hesitate. "No."

"If I just sign my name?"

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "You wouldn't be able to resist the temptation."

"I'd try really hard," he promised.

She swatted him away with her good arm, but her grin grew wider. "No."

John affected a hurt expression and finally conceded, dropping the pen into her cup. He surveyed the array of flowers on her desk. "Sleeping with a florist?"

"Actually, no. They all came attached to sympathy cards."

"Oh?"

She nodded as she adjusted a vase full of daisies. "It seems a lot of people feel bad that I had to work with you."

He plucked the card from the nearest bouquet and read it. _Sorry you got stuck with Shep. If you were my partner you wouldn't have been shot. ~Cameron_ "Comedians, all of them." He flipped the card back onto her desk. "You didn't get enough flowers at the hospital?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I didn't have _that_ many."

John scoffed. "Tell that to my sinuses."

"You're not allergic to flowers, John."

"I wasn't before."

"No one tied you to a chair and made you spend the last 72 hours in my hospital room, you know." She used her most charming tone as she reminded him, "Especially if you're so sensitive to pollen."

"Yeah, well." He grinned. "You're less feisty when you're doped up. I had to take the opportunity to get in my verbal spars while your senses were dulled."

John slid off her desk when he saw O'Neill approaching.

"Agent Weir," O'Neill said, stopping when he reached her station, "nice work out there."

"Thank you, sir."

"Although, next time you think about throwing yourself in front of a bullet, just make sure the situation merits it." He inclined his head toward John. "Don't risk you life for just anyone. Have standards, Weir."

"Yes, sir." She nodded dutifully. "Rookie mistake."

O'Neill grinned. "I'm looking forward to having you around more."

John's head shot up in surprise. He looked to Elizabeth, and then back to O'Neill. "Around more?"

"Absolutely," O'Neill confirmed. "She did such a great job that we just couldn't let her go." He clapped John on the back. "Looks like you're stuck with her on your team, Sheppard. Unless you'd like me to ask Stecker or Cruz. Or maybe –"

"No, sir," John interrupted, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "That won't be necessary."

"Good. Now stop lollygagging and get back to work. One of you is going to have to write the report, and because her right hand is out of commission, I'm going to assign that task to you."

"Looking forward to it, sir."

As O'Neill disappeared around the corner, Elizabeth reminded John, "Plus, you lost at darts. Standard bet."

"Kind of you to bring that to my attention." He eyed her for a long moment. "What about your partner?"

She made a face. "Lorne is terrible at darts."

John rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant."

"Well, it turns out he's been considering a move to the west coast for a while." She shrugged her good shoulder, and frowned thoughtfully. "And there was something about an Agent Cadman who's going to teach him more about explosives."

John raised an eyebrow. "You've got him wrapped around your finger?"

She laughed as she collected the file in front of her. "I'm pretty sure it was the pay increase."

"So you're really staying?" John asked, trying to keep the tone of his voice level.

She met his eyes carefully. "Yep."

He let the moment drag out. "And may I ask why?"

She flashed him an indecipherable look as she stood up. "I'm doing it for the sunshine."

"Elizabeth," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "it rains here ninety-five percent of the time."

"Huh." She smiled as she brushed by him. "Then I guess I'm doing it for the rain."

"The rain, huh?" he called after her.

She didn't turn, but spoke over her shoulder, "Yep. Can't get enough of it."

A grin spread across his face as he watched her walk away.

--End--


End file.
